Mystery Medical Theatre 3000
by Zaedah
Summary: Only a truly bored Connor would resort to expense reports.


_Because my 'awesome' buddy D. Charles Bigglesworth will understand, I give you nonsense this Christmas Eve._

* * *

**Mystery Medical Theatre 3000**

In the darkness of a makeshift theatre which, in lit moments doubles as the conference section of a decades-old plane, a group of tired bodies sank into captain's chairs. The vinyl window covers were drawn, the lights doused and someone pushed play. NIH movie time was a membership-only event the top field team used to divert attention to the slow flight, the last case and the coming paperwork.

And it was all Connor's fault.

Several weeks ago, the launching party of these impromptu bonding sessions occurred somewhere over Dakota airspace. The uncharacteristically smooth flight only added to the tedium and a bored Natalie had requested something to occupy her frayed mind until they arrived in the same state as her bed.

"The young'uns are playing Go Fish in the kitchen," she'd explained to Stephen as he rubbed his eyes. The edges of a spreadsheet could be seen from her position above him and she'd known only a truly bored Connor would resort to expense reports.

"Knowing Frank, he's playing for money. And he'll get it." With an unabashedly grateful expression, Connor had shut down his computer and after a moment's thought, grinned.

"What? You planning to rob the kids of their lunch money?" Sitting in the adjoining chair, Natalie watched as he'd rummaged through his massive duffel bag and produced a personal DVD player.

"I apologize in advance for the content."

The entertainment, not of the adult nature she had feared, consisted of "The Creeping Terror," a 1950's film so bad, all of the dialogue had been ditched in favor of pure narration. The terror, it turned out, was a slow-moving rug monster no one seemed able to run from. Not a picky eater, it seemed, the monster ate twisting dancehall kids and lover's lane couples with equal aplomb. By the mid-point, two viewers had become four and the fifth, having been texted, had arrived with the kitchen's sole pouch of microwave popcorn.

The following week, the time killer was "The Oozing Skull," which prompted a heated discussion of exactly how a brain might be transplanted into Kate's body. Shortly after came "Eegah," a romance whose leading man carried a large club and spoke in grunts. Cavemen need love too, Eva explained in startling depth to the unsympathetic men. An extended flight from Arizona created a double feature and the crew found more to debate with "The Beast of Yucca Flats" and "The Brain That Wouldn't Die."

It was through these terrible, low budget, no plot movies that the team discovered the truth:

Connor had a sense of humor.

Mystery Science Theatre 3000 is an acquired taste, one the team found best palatable after an exhausting case and before debriefing. The result of viewing these cinematic eyesores has been two-fold; deeper bonding through relaxing banter and in-joke references that drove others nuts. Creepy administrators were compared to the robed master in "Manos, The Hands of Fate." Miles stopped splashing Eva with puddles because they could possess the man-to-fish mutating powers of 'The Blood Waters of Dr. Z." Powell discovered a glop of goo at a patient's home and began scanning for "The Incredible Melting Man." And power fluctuations were blamed on "Teenagers From Outer Space."

Christmas Eve morning saw the plane tearing through storm clouds on its way home and the group slowly coagulated in the conference room. A day off wasn't the only present on their wish list. Miles perched on the edge of his chair, shedding ten years in his antsy expectation. He'd struggled not to buy the series on DVD because the surprise of random choices couldn't be duplicated at home. A pencil tapped a rhythm on the table, a cue from Powell that he was ready to begin. The sensible man known for urban fashions had taken to carrying a Crow figure in his bag. And when Natalie wandered in, tossing her bag on the floor next to Connor's, the hint was a scream. She was a fan of the occasional shorts before the features and was eager for a distraction from the raging storm.

"I've got nothing for you," Connor shrugged and continued with his report, untroubled by the pouts and sighs that turned intelligent adults into disappointed children.

"It's like no presents under the tree," Miles scuffed the toe of his shoe against the carpet-covered grating.

"No, it's like punishment." Eva, with her crossed arms and tapping foot, stared down her unimpressed boss. "What gives, Servo?" Lightening flashed in the windows with a chorus of 'yeah's.'

Natalie gestured for the team to back off, then cast him a stern gaze. "Now guys, I'm sure Stephen has a reason for neglecting our leisure needs." Beat. "Which is?"

Snapping his laptop closed, Connor took in the sulking faces and shook his head. "What I have today… might be too good for you."

"But daaad…" Frank put on his best whine, one borrowed from his daughter.

Considering them a moment longer, Connor turned his gaze to his bag. "Your reports had better be perfect…"

Miles, having risen from his chair, rocked excitedly on his heels. "They'll be so good, Kate'll weep."

"And who's dusting my office?"

Natalie found it hard to ignore all the laser-precision puppy dog eyes aimed at her. "Oh, alright. Can we get this going before he has me waxing his car?"

And thus began the title sequence of "Santa Claus Conquers the Martians."


End file.
